


The best part of the day

by JD_Centric



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Smut, the Bowers gang being soft, vaguely described sexual acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Centric/pseuds/JD_Centric
Summary: “The evening’s the best part of the day. You’ve done your day’s work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.”//The Bowers gang and their evening routine.//





	The best part of the day

 “Evenings are your chance to forget the mistakes you made during the day, so for the sweetest of dreams, you can pave the way. Good evening.”

 - ???

 

 “The evening’s the best part of the day. You’ve done your day’s work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.”

 - Kazuo Ishiguro

 

 There’s a routine every family, good or bad, follows with diligence every evening as a ritual to greet the night and say goodbye to the strenuous day. It’s different for everybody. In some households mommy and daddy would watch TV while the baby slept upstairs, in others daddy would be dozing on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table with a bottle of gin in arm’s reach while mommy washed the dishes; in others mommy would be beating her boy black and blue with her husband’s belt for disobedience…

 People were rarely curious what happened in the house of their neighbours in Derry and as far as that rule went, Victor Criss was a devout follower. If the neighbours did try to look into their personal life, he’d tell them off; most times, they were too scared to. It was very hard to change bad reputation. The peace was appreciated. So each night he came home from work tired and grumpy, he wouldn’t have to care about Mrs Dolly from down the hall asking how his day’s been. There already was one person he’d appreciate the question from and that was Belch. Only he knew how best to ask it and what tone to use.

 It was already half past eight when Vic crawled up the stairs towards their apartment, mentally counting each step and forcing his feet to keep moving. His body ached after the long day and his eyelids felt heavy, needing nothing but a rewarding sleep, nestled tightly in his warm bed. Having been up all day since early morning, Vic couldn’t even feel hungry; his empty stomach felt rather sick at the thought of food. He needed a shower, needed to prop his feet up for a few minutes and a large drink.

 He felt around his pockets for his keys, leaning heavily against his apartment’s door. Eventually, he pressed the doorbell. He could hear the noise of the TV echo from inside. The thought of their old couch covered in cigarette burns and odd stains was very tempting now.

 The few heavy footsteps approaching the door from inside took him out of his thoughts and Vic pushed himself away from the door to wait. It opened moments after he felt someone glance at him quickly through the dirty lens of the peephole and Vic found himself standing in front of Patrick’s grinning mug. He held a can of Budweiser in hand and it was obvious that unlike Vic he had already turned in for a night of relaxation.

 “Welcome home, Vic.” Patrick greeted him smugly, holding the door open for him to come in before closing it. He followed Vic’s sluggish movements with interest and a hint of fondness. “Wow, look at you, as fresh as a pickle…”

 “Hey.” Vic greeted absently in turn, toeing off his boots. His feet were sore. “I’m gonna need one of those…” He trailed off, looking at the beer in Patrick’s hand as he hung his jacket.

 “Sure, what do I get in return?” Patrick sniggered, leaning to close into Vic’s personal space to steal a quick kiss. Vic wasn’t in the mood for anything more and though Patrick was insatiable most times, Vic was too tired to indulge him tonight. Maybe some other time…

 “I’m serious about the beer.” He muttered against the other’s lips before ducking out of reach. He felt Patrick reach for his ass but he was quicker and slapped his hand away before he could get a solid slap in or one of his hard pinches that were too mean to be teasing.

 Their living room was a tight little room without windows. The wallpaper was old and covered in large yellow stains; the corners of the ceiling were covered in patches of mould. The only furniture was the couch and coffee table, the large TV and the bookcase it was propped on top of. There was, of course, Henry’s favourite armchair and a carpet to cover the bare floorboards though they could have easily passed without it. It wasn’t the best but it was theirs and it was better than they could’ve ever hoped to get. For four men in their early twenties, their entire apartment was far better than what anyone would expect. Henry and Patrick would gladly live in a dump but Vic was fond of order himself so the odds evened out eventually.

 When Vic dragged his feet into the living room he saw Henry in his armchair, Belch resting on the couch where Patrick must’ve sat before he forced him up. The spot beside Belch was still warm for Vic to settle in after he gave Henry a quick but sloppy peck on the cheek.

 “You’re late today.” Henry grumbled, not looking up from the TV.

 “I’m sorry.” Vic replied evenly, not in the mood to argue. He leaned comfortably against Belch’s side and closed his eyes for a brief moment, enjoying the comfort of finally being home.

 “Bad day?” Belch asked him next, with a much softer tone that Vic greatly appreciated. He took a large gulp of his own beer before wrapping an arm around Vic’s shoulders and keeping him close while Vic crossed his ankles atop the table with a sigh. That was all the answer Belch needed.

 “Hey, that’s my spot.” Patrick grumbled but with no real bite as he sat beside Vic. One hand went around his small waist as he handed him his already opened can of beer. Vic downed a quarter of the Budweiser in one go. He would’ve liked to have something stronger…But maybe it was better not to; alcohol got him sluggish as it was and he was already tired. He didn’t want to pass out before he took a shower.

 “You’re so grumpy tonight…” Patrick mumbled into his neck, his warm breath giving Vic goosebumps but it was not wholly unpleasant. He cuddled into him and nuzzled his nose into the nape of his neck before throwing one leg over Vic’s and finally stilling. If it weren’t for the constant hum of the TV and the rapid shift of the noise of the movie, Vic would’ve easily fallen asleep.

 “Vic? Vicky, get up, it’s shower time.” Patrick, ever so annoying, nudged his side and Vic batted away his probing fingers, as slender and long as wriggling worms playing over his sides, before rubbing his eyes. Suddenly he became aware of how horribly cold it was when he sat up away from both Belch and Patrick and the warm pocket they had created for him in the middle of the couch.

 “You dozed off.” Belch told him, stroking fondly over the back of his neck as Vic came around.

 “I’m taking a shower and I’m going to bed.” He told them, standing up from the couch. Another cold wave made him shiver and Vic remembered how badly he craved the warmth of the sheets as he turned in for the night beside his most favourite people in the world. Well, he’d never tell them that. They’d get too cocky.

 “You coming too?” Vic asked as he passed by Henry’s armchair. He leaned down again and this time Henry quickly reciprocated. They shared a lingering kiss, very unlike both of them, but it’s what Vic needed. Henry, out of the goodness of his heart, would indulge him tonight. From the couch, Patrick huffed.

 “Too tired, he said.” He trailed off. “Not in the mood, he said. Tell me when you’re up for it.”

 “Fuck off, Pat.” Henry growled a soft warning before planting another solid kiss to Vic’s lips.

 “There’s dinner in the fridge.” Belch called after him as Vic swayed towards the hall.

 “I’m not hungry.” Vic answered over his shoulder.

 “Want help washing up, Vic?” He heard Patrick call out from the living room but he only shook his head. He had already shut the bathroom door.

 Vic had half expected that Patrick would slither right in after him but he managed to take his quick shower on his own and by himself. He took some time to stand under the heavy spray of hot water, feeling it wash away the tension in his tired limbs and back. When he got out, the boys were already getting ready for bed and while he dried his hair in the small bathroom, Belch brushed his teeth; while he got dressed, Henry was making the bed. By the time he got under the covers, Patrick was already sitting in his desk chair and Belch was turning on the small square TV in the corner of the bedroom with a box of crackers propped beside him on the bedside table. The picture was grainy, black and white, but he could watch the late night programmes from the comfort of their bed while Patrick played with his bugs, taking their dry, dusty corpses out of their boxes, cleaning the needles that held them in place, adding new ones and moving them around. The two showcase boxes stood atop the shelf just above the desk beside Vic’s novels.

 Their bed was pushed right against the wall and that’s where Patrick slept, right between the damp wallpaper and Henry, and despite complaining that when Henry got restless he had no room to roll away from his twisting and turning, he never changed places. Vic supposed that it had something to do with being able to comfortably grab onto Henry whenever he wanted and Henry wouldn’t have a place to run either; he was stuck between Vic and Patrick and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing either. Vic was the one who would sooth his nightly terrors and Patrick was convenient if he needed a quick sexual relief in the morning, and he rarely complained. Belch was the only one who slept at the edge of the bed and so he could get up early and make breakfast without waking any of them up. He could also easily reach the bedside table where a bottle of water and the TV remote usually stood. In other words, in bed, all of them got what they needed or had probably gotten accustomed to what they got the first time they laid down together.

 Vic flopped down beside Belch with a heavy sigh of pleasure and content. He threw the TV a look then looked over Belch to watch Patrick pull the curtains over the dirty window before settling in his chair. He turned on the lamp there and took down the showcase boxes off the shelf. For a while, Vic watched his odd fixation with the beetles and butterflies under the glass. Patrick would have looked nearly intelligent if Vic didn’t already know that while he worked, Patrick’s mind was as blank as Belch’s TV after a power outage. Or, at least, he supposed it was; Patrick was never in the state to explain to him just what went on in his mind while he was playing with his little toys. With nothing but calm fascination and love for his bugs though Vic thought he was a rather handsome sight to look at, much better than his usual leering self that would scare the kids and tots in the park.

 Henry crawled into bed behind him a moment later and easily took Vic out of his daze when he wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him into his chest. His palms, cold after having washed his hands moment before, slowly dipped under his shirt to caress his flat belly. Vic groaned throatily, trying to wiggle away. He really wasn’t in the mood and when he felt Henry’s lips on the nape of his neck, then his teeth latching greedily onto the soft skin, he quickly realised where things were going.

 “ _No_ , Hank…” Vic grit out, trying to sound forceful although it ended up a breathy plea whispered into the side of Belch’s shirt. “Not now…I’m seriously tired right now.”

 “You don’t have to do anything.” Henry tried to convince him, effectively pulling him away from Belch and turning him on his back with a gentle push. It took a bit of coaxing to make Vic spread his legs and he still appeared groggy and bitter when he opened his eyes to look up at him. Henry knew how to work him just right, knew just the right buttons to push to make Vic pliant.

 One hand pressed Vic’s into the pillow while he ground his middle into his lazily; Vic groaned, so soft it could pass for a needy moan. Henry pushed up his shirt to expose the appealing sight of his skinny waist and chest, covered in visible muscles. They tightened under his skin each time he writhed under him and arched his back.

 “Just stay still and let me.” Henry finished, engaging the other into a deep, sloppy kiss. This time, Vic might as well have moaned.

 As reluctant as he was or tried to be, Vic quickly melted under Henry and remained still and obedient even when his touches turned rough and impatient. He panted and whined when Henry broke their kiss to trail more down his neck; wrapped his thighs around his waist when he tugged down his briefs. His hand grasped Henry’s, his other palmed his biceps, his shoulder; fingers slid into his hair and tried to pull him into another kiss. A sharp exhale left his kiss-swollen lips as Henry finally slid home with one effortless push and the warmth washed over Vic’s rigid body in heavy waves, forcing him under.

 Vaguely, he thought Belch turned on the sound of the TV when Henry finally praised him with a long, loving kiss.

 His thrusts were deep and forceful and they left Vic breathless every time. His pants and groans, muffled in the skin of Henry’s neck, filled the room as Henry’s hands gripped his thighs, hips, his waist. The bed creaked under them as the mattress bounced; thankfully, they finished before their rough intercourse got too much on Belch’s nerves. Sitting beside them felt like laying on a waterbed and eating took a few extra-chews if he didn’t want to choke on the salty crackers. When Vic’s hand found his knee, his grip tight, anxious, desperate, Belch didn’t have it in him not to lay his hand over his and offer at least a bit of kind comfort in his passion and frighteningly intense pleasure. His eyes remained locked on the TV screen where a handful of actors kept screaming in exaggerated fear.

 Patrick threw the bed a short glance when Vic’s broken sounds reached a suddenly high volume in his impending closure and Henry’s groans became sharp and breathy. He watched them for a second but quickly lost interest and went back to his thing. Just because two of them felt the need to get it on once in a while didn’t mean all four of them had to necessarily participate. More often than not though Vic was in the centre. Maybe because neither of them could really take his hands off him? Patrick himself had always been rather fond of his submissive streaks but in the end, Henry’s unpredictable tendencies under the sheets never failed to turn him on. Patrick was rather hard to please in bed and he found very little things sexually appealing. When Vic wanted it soft, for example, Patrick needed it rough, needed it fast and demanding. There was a certain filth to the act whenever he was with Henry that he couldn’t explain to himself, whenever Henry took control and whenever he felt the need to be pliant; when he needed comfort most, Patrick got a kick similar to the effects of hard drugs out of denying him, pushing him far past his limits and observing his reactions when he took advantage of his moments of weakness. That didn’t mean he didn’t love Vic and Belch just as much, mind you. Then again, Patrick was the last person to know what love really felt like.

 Vic came with a choked, drawn-out moan. He grasped onto the back of Henry’s shirt and Belch’s knee, his body going arching into Henry’s. He had taken a shower nearly half an hour ago and he was again sweaty, tired and sore, only this time he was not going to take a second shower.

 Henry rolled over and away from him almost immediately, leaving Vic cold and wanting. He caught his breath and got out of bed to throw away the condom and possibly wash away a bit of the sweat covering his face and neck. In the meantime, Vic rolled over to cuddle up to Belch. His skinny arm went around his middle and Belch’s hand came down to stroke his back; it was an almost lazy, unconscious gesture.

 “You want one?” He asked, throwing another cracker in his mouth. He ran a hand through Vic’s slightly damp hair when he shook his head and hid his face in his side. If he wasn’t tired before, now he was absolutely wrecked. To think that he would have to wake up tomorrow again, as early as six, made Belch want to purposefully keep him in bed, call in sick for him and let him have at least a day of well-earned rest. Unfortunately, if he did, Vic would kill him. “Pull up your underwear.”

 “Mhmm...”

 Vic didn’t. His briefs remained forgotten around one of his calves until Henry came back and tucked him in, properly this time. He fixed his underwear and shirt and made sure he was covered before kissing his neck one final time, inhaling the scent of sweat, sex and soap, and getting under the covers beside him himself.

 “G’nigh, Henry.” Belch wished him, reaching over absently to stroke along the back of his neck. Henry mumbled back a reply but Vic was already out. His body was heavy and warm against Belch and he wouldn’t have moved him even if the world was ending. In his sleep, Vic appeared much younger than he was and it was a sweet sight all of them enjoyed in secret, so they wouldn’t make him too angry.

 A few minutes later, Patrick closed the top of the showcase box, returned the three of them in their rightful place beside Vic’s books and turned off the bright desk lamp. Finally, he appeared to be back with them. He strode over to the bed and leaned over Belch to plant a rather harsh kiss on Vic’s cheek, nuzzled his warm neck. He kissed his forehead like a mother would her baby’s, then his temple. Patrick would’ve woken him up to get his share of love until Belch finally pushed him off.

 “Cut it out, you’ll wake him.” He whispered harshly but Patrick did settle, finally, although reluctantly.

 “Fine, okay…But tomorrow…”

 “Go to bed.” Belch ordered with all his authority. Patrick gave him his goodnight kiss, stroked the hair away from Vic’s forehead and crawled in bed beside Henry like the good boy he was.

 “Good night.” He drawled, wrapping his grabby arms around Henry’s middle and nuzzling his neck. “Night, Hank…”

 Henry huffed out another reply, groaning warningly when Patrick became too touchy. Belch was the last of them to fall asleep; he waited to see the clichéd ending of the movie before turning off the TV. He took a sip of water to wash down the taste of the crackers and slowly, so he wouldn’t jostle Vic too much, slid down to lay on his back. Even slower he turned to face Vic, who barely moved a muscle or made a sound. His deep, even breathing eventually lulled Belch into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The first something for 2019! This has been in my mind for a while, so I thought I might as well give it a try. Feel free to comment, though there's nothing much to comment about, it was all meant to make you go 'awww'...It's really self-indulgent, I know, but have fun either way. My obsession with the Bowers gang and the relationship they might have had weren't the majority of them homophobic 12-year-olds (canonically, in the book) and dead is getting out of hand.


End file.
